Not a Damsel in Distress!

The ground wasn't solid. Or maybe it was, and her senses just hadn't caught up. Samantha blinked rapidly, gasping softly as her vision adjusted. The world around her shimmered like it was underwater—liquid air, glass trees, and a sky split with light. She turned in a slow circle, breath caught in her throat.

Then she heard it. Footsteps. Bare, soft, but echoing like they carried weight.

She spun.

And there she was.

The woman from the mirror. Silver in her dark hair, a face like Samantha's but older, etched with grief and wisdom. Her robes trailed along the mirrored floor, and her eyes glowed faintly with something ancient.

"You're here," the woman said, smiling. "Finally. We can talk."

Samantha gawked, heart pounding. "Okay. Not to sound ungrateful, but… what the hell just happened?"

"Oh, you know. Just hijacked your consciousness and pulled you through a soul mirror across time and memory. Standard mystical girl stuff."

Samantha stared. "...Seriously?"

Saryel grinned. "Of course not. But this really was the only way to speak with you directly. No eavesdropping, no interference. Just us."

"So... you're Saryel."

The woman inclined her head. "The part of her that remains. The part that's been waiting. Watching."

Samantha rubbed her temples. "I feel like I should be screaming or panicking, but honestly, I think I left my ability to freak out back in the mirror."

"That's for the best. You'll need clarity now more than ever."

Samantha took a breath, steadying herself. "Why now? Why pull me in like this? What am I supposed to do?"

Saryel's expression softened. "Because you're ready. Because the truth has waited long enough."

She extended a hand, palm open, and a flicker of light began to form between them—images, places, sounds, blurred but beckoning.

Samantha watched as the light solidified into pictures. A younger Saryel knelt beside a lake, tears slipping silently down her face. People gathered in hooded robes. Fire flickering in their palms. An ancient ritual taking place beneath a blood moon.

"This... happened?"

"Long ago. In another lifetime. One you carry echoes of. These memories, they're part of you now."

Samantha moved closer, transfixed by the ghostlike images flickering around them. One showed a younger version of herself—or maybe Saryel again, it was hard to tell—standing on a stone altar, arms open to the storm. Lightning flashed behind her. Her eyes were glowing.

"I remember this," Samantha whispered, startled. "I dreamed this. Months ago. I thought it was just a nightmare."

Saryel's gaze held hers. "Some memories try to find their way back, even when blocked. You've always known, deep down. You've just never been allowed to remember. Until now."

The images slowed, then vanished like smoke.

Saryel stepped closer. "You asked me what you're supposed to do. The answer to that lies in understanding who you truly are—and what was taken from you."

Samantha swallowed. "Then tell me. Please. Help me understand."

Saryel smiled again, softer this time, almost mournful. "It's time to show you what you've been searching for. Answers."

The light grew brighter, beginning to swirl around Samantha's body, pulling at her again—but this time, she didn't resist.

---

Outside the mirror, time dragged.

Ron sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes trained on the glass like it might blink first. "Okay. So, no offense, but how long do soul trips usually last? Asking for a deeply concerned friend."

J leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You're getting twitchy."

"I am twitchy. Our girl just got sucked into a spirit vacuum and you want me to be Zen?"

Alaric didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained locked on the mirror, eyes narrowed in quiet calculation.

"She is not lost," he said finally. "Not yet."

Ron huffed. "Yeah, you keep saying that, but I'm not exactly loving the whole cryptic-mentor act. Got any less mystical updates?"

J snorted. "He means 'can you give us something that doesn't sound like it came from a prophecy scroll?'"

Alaric closed his eyes briefly. "If she can hold herself steady within the memory realm, she will return. The connection remains."

"And if she can't?" Ron asked quietly. "What happens then?"

Alaric looked at him, the pause saying more than words. "Then we will need to go after her."

Ron's jaw tightened. "Great. So, mirror rescue mission. Love that for us."

J pushed off the wall and started pacing. "We can't just stand here forever. There has to be something we can do."

Ron nodded. "Agreed. Look, I'm not exactly a magical expert, but if we try to trigger a reaction—talk to her, call her name, I don't know... sing a heartfelt ballad about friendship?"

J rolled her eyes. "Ron."

"What? It worked in animated movies."

Alaric sighed, visibly restraining the urge to rub his temples. "Please. Just... hold your focus."

Ron held up his hands. "Focusing. I'm a picture of serenity."

J smirked. "You're a picture of chaos."

Before Ron could reply, the mirror pulsed.

It began as a subtle ripple across the surface, like breath on water. Slowly, a soft glow lit from within—dim, then growing. All three turned.

Ron stood up immediately. "Uh. Guys? That seems new."

J stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "It wasn't glowing before, right?"

"Not unless I missed the memo on ominous magical nightlights," Ron muttered.

Alaric's posture shifted, alert. "Something's changed."

They all stared.

The light in the mirror swirled like mist caught in a storm.

Waiting.

Watching.

And whispering that something—or someone—was on the way back.